


Hearts and Hyperventilation

by poppyfields13



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Prostitution, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-04
Updated: 2009-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppyfields13/pseuds/poppyfields13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in nineteenth century London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The characters within are only based on real people, this is purely fiction and I am not implying events within to be occurrences in real life.

**prologue: stuck on survive**

David Cook had a lot of money; he had inherited it from his tuberculosis ridden father at the age of twenty. His mother had died during childbirth. He had not, nor would he ever, work a day in his life. Five years had passed since his father died and he spent his days in the North London Gentleman’s Club, reading the paper, drinking whisky, playing cards and having heated discussions with the other members. He had many acquaintances and was relatively well liked. But he was also considered eccentric; he knew this and was fairly certain it was because he had never shown any inkling of an intention to marry. Cook knew his father would be horrified that his son was content to let the family line die. He thought many of his friends, though he had no real close ones, also suspected he was not that interested in the opposite sex and that his desires lay elsewhere. But no-one ever said anything about this, of course.

Cook didn’t live an extremely extravagant life, though he could have if he liked. He had sold all of his father’s estates in the country and lived in the town house that he had lived in his whole life. He did buy a very small one room cottage in the country though. It was all he needed and he very rarely went there, only when he was finding life particularly insufferable. And this wasn’t very often, for he was relatively happy with his simple, somewhat monotonous life.

By the age of fifteen Cook had known that his life would be a lonely one. He knew then that he was attracted to men and not women. He had accepted he would never be able to find that someone to share his life with. He had grown accustomed to feeling this way. He scarcely let loneliness become a factor in his life. If he ever did start to wallow in self pity, that was usually when he left the city, to busy himself in the livelihood of the country. Riding, hunting, fishing and any other sport that would keep him occupied.

Usually he only lasted there a week, but that was enough to evaporate his self pity, and he was back to his politics and literature and intellectual stimulation. Cook also loved to go to the theatre, and rather liked to think of himself as a musician. In fact he had written many a song on his grand piano that his father had always hated him playing, saying it was a woman’s hobby. Every time he would finish writing a song, with a sense of satisfaction he would place the music sheets in a box, hidden in the closet of one of his spare rooms where no-one was likely to find it. And there it would stay, only to see a glimpse of the light of day when a new song was added. His music was strange, he wrote only for himself. Cook did not believe anyone would understand it if they heard it.

Cook had resigned himself to a life of solitude, but even though he never thought he would have a lover, he was still a man with needs. So every once in a while, he would leave his house late at night and make his way to what should be an unfamiliar part of London. Obviously, to him it was not. He would walk along the streets, searching for a boy who took his fancy. He liked dark haired boys, though he wasn’t that fussy.

It was never very difficult to find a boy eyeing him up, then he would signal them and they would make their way into a dark alley. There, they would drop to their knees and work him with their mouths and usually it was over after just a few minutes. He hardly ever took them to hotel rooms. Usually they would have to offer that service first and if he particularly liked the look of them he would agree and in the room they would strip naked and he made them turn around, never really wanting to see their faces. He usually turned that offer down though because it was more than a frantic release. It was more about pleasure and less about need and the pleasure was too great, too taboo and filled him with too much guilt.

But one night, on one of his nights out that had seemed like any other, David Cook’s whole life changed. This is the story of how David Cook’s life alone ended, and how he rather unsuspectingly fell in love.


	2. Part One

**one: steps away with hesitance**

David Cook had just been serviced by a boy in an alleyway and was heading home when a scuffle in a shop entryway caught his attention. He turned his head in the direction of the movement to see a large man in a top hat leaning over a small boy. He was kicking him in the chest and the boy didn’t seem able, or wasn’t prepared to, defend himself. Ordinarily, Cook would ignore something like this (it wouldn’t be the first time he encountered such an incident in these parts) but something, and he didn’t know what, made him stop. “Hey!” he cried out.

Instantly, the man stopped and then sprinted off as fast as he could, without even turning to see who had called out. The boy lay motionless and Cook didn’t know whether he should run as well… what if the boy was dead? He didn’t want to be held responsible for that. But then a small groan came from the boy and his arm jerked to his head. Cook hurried over to him and crouched down, “Are you alright?” he asked in a concerned voice.

The boy didn’t look up, “M’fine.” He wiped his hand across his face and when he pulled it away there was blood on his fingers. Cook pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to him. The boy spat out some blood that had obviously formed in his mouth and then used the handkerchief to wipe his face. Finally he tipped his hat and looked up as he handed the handkerchief back.

Cook was momentarily speechless. The boy was not like any other he had seen, and certainly not around here. His skin was slightly olive, foreign looking, and it was blemish free. His eyes were a piercing hazel. Not dull hazel, like Cook’s, but they seemed to change from deep, deep brown to icy green within seconds. Cook thought he was beautiful. More beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

He cleared his throat, “Why was that man trying to kill you?” he asked.

“I don’t think he meant to kill me, just hurt me really badly,” the boy said earnestly. He had a mild cockney accent but he didn’t sound uneducated.

Cook’s mouth twitched, “Nevertheless, what was his reason for… this?” He gestured to the boy’s forming bruises.

“Well, we had an argument over the price of… you know…” Cook nodded, not surprised at what the boy was confessing to be, but still a little saddened by it. “And after, he wouldn’t pay me the amount we agreed, so I tried to take it from his pocket…” He shrugged. “Thank you for stopping him by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Cook replied, he stood up and held his hand out for the boy to take. “Come on,” he said, helping him up, “You need to get cleaned up and have a rest.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, but he staggered a bit when he made it to his feet.

“I don’t think so. You’re coming with me.” The boy gave him an apprehensive look and Cook chuckled. “You can trust me, I promise. I’m not going to murder you.” The boy’s eyes opened even wider at that but he followed Cook anyway, clutching his arm as he limped.

They walked until they made it to a not so seedy area and Cook hailed a hansom cab. He never used his own horse and carriage on these excursions. He didn’t want his stableman, Jason, knowing about it. When they were settled Cook turned to the boy who hadn’t spoken since when they were back in the alley. “My name is David Cook. You can call me Cook.”

The boy’s head snapped up. “My name’s David too! Archuleta. David Archuleta.”

Cook smiled at his excitement about them having the same name. “How old are you?” he asked.

“Seventeen.” He said it in a much quieter voice, as if he regretted being so animated before, making Cook feel oddly disappointed.

Cook nodded and neither of them said any thing more the entire ride to Cook’s house. When they got there David stood on the footpath waiting as Cook paid the driver, then followed Cook’s brisk walk through the gate and up the stone steps.

His valet, Michael, met them at the front door and he helped Cook out of his coat. David wasn’t wearing one. Michael eyed David suspiciously and turned to Cook waiting for an explanation. He was sadly disappointed when all Cook said was: “Can you please set up the spare bedroom across from mine, and a hot bath in there?” Michael nodded and left.

Cook supposed all of his staff would be up chatting about the strange situation for hours that night. As long as none of the gossip met his ears, or David’s for that matter, he really didn’t care. He turned to the boy. “While he does that you may come and sit with me.”

As he walked to a doorway to the right, just before where the stairs started he asked if David was hungry. David just shrugged and Cook took that as a ‘yes’. He rang a bell for the housemaid to come. Almost instantly, she appeared before they had even entered the withdrawing room. She looked even more curious than Michael did and stared blatantly at David who looked at his feet uncomfortably.

“Kristin, can you please bring up some sandwiches or something?” Cook asked and she dragged her eyes away from David to nod and curtsey before scurrying off again. He was sure Carly, his Irish cook, wouldn’t be too pleased about it but she had to deal with this every time Cook drank too much and decided he needed food at midnight, so it wasn’t exactly an uncommon task.

They finally walked into the withdrawing room. Cook didn’t usually entertain his guests in there, he usually took them to the library and kept this room for himself, often thinking about his mother having tea in there, or painting or embroidering. It was also the room where the piano was kept.

Cook had electricity in his house, of course, so he just had to flick a switch for the room to be bathed in light. When he turned to face David the light offered him a chance to get a good look at the boy. He could see then that a bruise had formed around his eye and it was swollen. He suddenly had the urge to reach his fingers out and gently caress the hurt skin, and he did in fact lift his arm up to do it, but then he realised just in time and he turned away instead.

Cook sat down in his favourite chair and looked at the boy who stood awkwardly by the door. He looked a bit like he might escape any second. “You may sit down,” Cook told him. David looked around nervously before sitting gingerly on the edge of the chaise lounge, which was closest to the door. Cook suddenly didn’t feel so… jolly about the whole thing. There was nothing to laugh at, he was rather scared. “Where are you from? You look foreign,” he said.

David’s back straightened and he turned his noise up slightly, “Only half,” he said, sounding defensive.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Cook said quickly.

David looked at him in surprise. It seemed like he didn’t expect Cook to care about his feelings. He looked at his hands and then started to speak without any prompting. “My mother’s from Honduras. My father met her there when he went on a mission. He’s a vicar… you probably didn’t expect that. But he doesn’t earn much and I have three sisters and a younger brother. My father decided that when I turned sixteen I could fend for myself. My family thinks I have an apprenticeship with an apothecary. I send them money home when I can. They… would be so shocked if they knew the truth.”

It sounded very much like a confession and Cook could practically feel the sadness in the boy. He wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how. Luckily Kristin came back with the food and Cook let that do the comforting instead, it would probably do a better job than him anyway. David ate all of it and when he was finished he gave Cook a sheepish look, which Cook laughed at and which brought back the more relaxed feeling between them.

Michael appeared to inform them that David’s room and bath was ready and Cook took him upstairs to show him the room. David walked in and looked around quickly before turning to look at Cook who was standing in the hallway. His eyes were expectant and Cook shook himself out of his thoughts. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to it then,” and he shut the door with a bit more force than it required.

He walked across the hall to his own room. He sat down on the edge of his bed and removed his shoes wearily. Michael had lit the fire but it didn’t seem to warm him much. He stared at his door, his thoughts drifting to the boy across the hall, who was now, most probably naked.

He stood up and began pacing his room. He wasn’t sure for how long he did this but he knew that with every step came the same thought and finally when his eyes fell upon a desk in the corner of the room, a glass bottle filled with amber liquid, he moved before he thought it through.

Cook knocked on David’s door, two glasses of scotch in his hand. A soft gasping voice told him he could enter. Cook peered around the door cautiously. Sitting on the large bed, his legs dangling loosely over the edge, was the boy in a spare dressing gown that had been laid out for him.

His hair was wet and plastered to his forehead, and when Cook got closer he could see the bruises, but there was no more dried blood around his mouth and his skin, despite the bluish tinges, seemed fresh and no doubt very soft. Cook sat next to him on the bed, keeping a decent distance between them. He handed David one of the glasses but was too busy downing his own to notice the boy sniff it and then put it to the side.

Before he really knew what was happening, David’s face was right in front of his, his warm breath ghosting across his lips, and that was all the warning there was. David was kissing him with a sort of fake ferocity. Once Cook had registered what was going on, he pulled away.

Kissing David was not like anything he had experienced. Somehow, the boy seemed so pure. The kiss so soft yet perfectly pressured. His tentative touch upon Cook’s hand, no-one had touched him with such care before and he didn’t think he deserved it, and certainly not at the high price of stealing something from this sweet boy. The thought of ruining David made Cook hate himself. Because that is what he knew would happen if he let things continue.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a voice he hoped sounded scandalised.

David looked into his eyes, confused and perhaps a little hurt, “I thought…” he stammered.

Cook shook his head and stood up. “No… I… don’t want to do that, with you. I mean to you. I just wanted to help. I just wanted to help you.” He looked down helplessly at the boy, who was once again holding the glass of whisky. He watched as the boy drank it and then look up at him with watery eyes. Cook had to look away, “I’ll see you in the morning, you need some rest.” And he turned without waiting for a reply. He was sure he wouldn’t get one anyway.

A part of him was overwhelmingly shocked at what had happened, and the other part was simply intrigued. David just seemed to radiate unnatural amounts of innocence, but yet he clearly wasn’t. And, in fact, what he was offering Cook, in the back of his mind the older man had definitely been thinking about. He had gone to that room for a purpose. But when David tried to give it to him, obviously thinking he had no choice, Cook felt the… dread in him, and he just couldn’t do it.

David was so young; he didn’t have to live his life that way. There was still hope for him. Cook had the opportunity to save him from that life, he realised, not encourage it. Cook knew, could feel it emanating from him, that David was good. He couldn’t let himself taint the boy with his own unnatural desires. Because David was too good to grow up lonely and sad the way Cook had.


	3. Part Two

**two: heaven sent an angel**

The next day, for the first time in many years, Cook did not go to his club. He woke up earlier than he usually did, staring up at the ceiling, feeling there was something different about that day before he remembered that there was, and it was David.

He quickly threw the covers back, put on his robe and washed his face before leaving his room and making his way over to the room David was sleeping in. His stomach clenched as he lifted his fist up to knock. He was scared of what he would find on the other side of the door. It was possible that David was no longer there. He shook himself and rapped on the door lightly. He waited but heard nothing so he knocked again, more forcefully. Still nothing. Now convinced David was gone he burst though the door.

David was in the bed and he sat up abruptly, looking very disorientated. He rubbed at his eyes and peered at Cook who felt rather silly. “Uh, good morning,” Cook said.

“Mornin’,” David replied groggily.

Cook composed himself, and began to speak in the self assured way he was so used to performing. “I’m going to have breakfast downstairs in the dining room in about half an hour. You are welcome to join me, or I could have Kristin bring something up for you…?”

David worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before replying, “Um… I’ll join you.”

“Right,” Cook said. He continued to stay where he was and David watched him curiously with those big honest eyes that seemed to read his soul. Cook couldn’t help stare back, wishing he had the same ability. He had to shake himself again. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to, uh… yes.” And he quickly left the room.

When Cook was back in his own bedroom, instead of moving to get dressed he threw himself onto the bed. He pressed his face into the mattress so that he could barely breathe. It was a welcoming suffocation. A freedom from his muddled mind.

~*~

David was already in the dining room when Cook finally entered. He sat down at the head of the table, David to the right of him. Kristin instantly served him his tea. He looked to David who was drinking a glass of milk and once again, he was eating ravenously.

They didn’t speak until Cook was half way through his toast. “Do you like to play chess?” he asked.

David’s head had been bent so low his face was practically an inch from his plate but when Cook spoke he snapped his head up and gave him a confused look. Cook made no further explanation so David finally answered that he didn’t know how to.

“Well, today I can teach you,” Cook said matter of factly as he refilled his cup.

David started to stutter, “Um… uh… I, uhm…” Cook stared at him expectantly and he finally managed to get the words out. “I should probably, uhm, go home?”

Cook frowned. “Where do you live exactly?”

David blushed. “Um, I board with a lady…”

“I think you should stay here,” Cook interjected.

David’s eyebrows knotted together. “What? I can’t do that,” he said with surprising stubbornness.

“I insist,” Cook replied with more confidence than he felt.

“I don’t understand,” David said, almost with a touch of annoyance. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything,” Cook said. David gave him a disbelieving look. Cook sighed, “Well, fine… to be perfectly honest, I could just do with the company. My life is rather dull at times.”

David gasped a little and his soft face hardened. “You expect me to make it exciting for you?”

“No, I didn’t say that, I just…” Cook paused, trying to find the words. He decided being honest was probably the best route. “I get rather lonely sometimes. I don’t need you to entertain me but… can’t we be dull together, at least?”

“But I can’t. I have to work. How am I supposed to earn money to send to my family?” David said.

“I’ll give you money,” Cook said. Seeing the look on David’s face, though, he instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“No,” David said with a stony voice. “I like to earn my money.”

Trying to rectify the situation Cook lost the little dignity he was holding on to and practically started begging. “You would be doing me a service! I’ll pay you to keep me company!” He didn’t know why he was so desperate for this boy to stay with him, but feeling David slip though his fingers, he would do anything to stop it.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this. If you don’t want me for… that, what do you want me for?” Cook’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe that David seemed to think that was all he was good for. And he wanted to kick himself for being partly responsible for that as, he realised, his rejection of David the night before probably caused the boy to think Cook didn’t find him attractive, which was the farthest thing from the truth. But that was why he needed him to stay so badly, so he could help David see his real worth.

David continued, “I’m sorry Mr. Cook but you just don’t understand.” David rose from his seat. Cook quickly did the same. He grabbed David’s arm.

“I won’t pay you if you don’t want! But you need the money… I have lots of it!” With his other hand he rattled the silverware on the table for emphasis. “David… I want to help. I don’t want you to have to… you know. You are so… and I like you. …” He heaved a great sigh, knowing that he wasn’t explaining himself very clearly. He thought back to the previous night. How he could feel that David hadn’t really wanted to be with him. “With me you won’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

David screwed up his face, he was clearly conflicted. He looked down at the hand wrapped around his arm and Cook reluctantly pulled away but David didn’t try to flee. He just stood motionless where he was. Finally he seemed to give a defeated sigh. “May I pick up some things I left at Mrs. Abdul’s?”

Cook’s face flooded with relief. “Of course!” he said overenthusiastically. “Of course, I’ll get Jason to get the carriage ready. And Michael to get my boots and coat…”

“Do you mind if I go alone?” David asked.

Cook’s face fell. “Oh, yes of course. You… you will come back?”

“I said I would,” David replied. His voice was gruff and Cook shifted uncomfortably.

“Right.” He distracted himself by ringing the bell to ask Kristin to ask Jason to get the horses ready. They both sat back down and David went back to staring at his plate.

“Um, Cook?” It was the first time he had initiated conversation.

“Yes?”

“Well, I was wondering… since I’ll be uhm, living here – for a while – well, in my room, I mean the room I slept in last night, I couldn’t find a bible and I was just wondering if you had a spare one I could, um, borrow?”

Cook raised his eyebrow; he wasn’t expecting that at all. “I think I have one in the library somewhere, that you can have.” He hoped David took note of his use of the word ‘have.’

“Thank you.”

They were silent again for several more minutes before Cook spoke again, “You need some clothes… I will have my tailor come by later this morning.”

“I have… clothes…” David started and then trailed off. “Um, don’t you have any old things I could wear? I don’t want you to have to buy me anything.”

“No I don’t, and you wouldn’t fit them anyway. I don’t mind. I want to.”

David slouched. “Alright.”

~*~

Every week, very early on Monday morning, from then on Cook would slide an envelope of money under David’s door. The first time, almost immediately David had come to find him, telling him it was too much. But Cook had insisted and David had thanked him, defeated, clutching the money to his chest.

On the first Sunday morning that David was there, Cook was rudely awakened by a knock on his door. He opened his eyes and for a moment assumed it was just a branch on his window or something that had woke him up but then he heard the noise again and his face scrunched up in annoyance. “What the hell?” he muttered to himself. Michael knew not to wake him that early. He groaned loudly before asking who was at the door.

It opened and a head of shiny black hair peered around, and then David’s whole face came into view. Cook shyly pulled the covers up to cover his bare chest, which he then felt ridiculous about. He raised his eyebrow in silent question of David’s presence.

“Good morning Mr…um I mean… Cook. I was just making sure you were awake,” the boy said.

Cook gaped at him. “ _Why_?”

“For church! It’s Sunday,” David replied, as if that really meant anything to Cook. He gave the boy the most disbelieving look he could muster. Cook only went to church on Christmas and Easter. If that.

He was just about to tell David so when the boy abruptly turned and closed the door, perhaps so that Cook wouldn’t be able to reply. Cook wondered at how well David knew him already. He listened to David humming as he made his way down the hall and Cook couldn’t find it in himself to fight it. Diligently he crawled out of bed and to the best of his ability he made himself presentable for church.

~*~

After about a week of playing chess, (which Cook usually let David win, and he thought David probably knew he was doing it too, but Cook couldn’t resist seeing the pleased smile of David’s every time he made a good move.) Cook left his house for the first time since they had met. He finally felt confident that David wouldn’t run away and leave him alone. He didn’t let the implications of this sink deep into his thoughts though. He didn’t want to be so dependent on this… _boy_ that he barely knew.

He didn’t know what it was about David, because he wasn’t pathetic nor did he ever act victimised. But Cook felt like it was his duty to save the boy. Cook had been this way as a small child too. Running around their properties in the country, he had always come back with a wounded rabbit or bird, wanting to save them. He felt it was right, to save something that wasn’t as strong as he was. His father had told him he was just like his mother, and then he had made Cook leave the room and Cook knew it was because he didn’t want his son to see him cry.

From almost the first moment Cook had seen David he wanted nothing more than to save him, to give him the life he deserved. The problem was that in order to do that he had to coexist with the charming boy and that constant physical temptation was almost too much to bear. And so he had to get away. He had to create some distance.

He knocked on David’s door and waited for the soft voice to permit him entry. When he walked in he found David sitting on his bed reading the bible Cook had given him. He looked up and Cook’s chest constricted at the shy smile that appeared on the boy’s face. Not for the first time, Cook’s speech floundered in David’s presence. “Um… I’m going out to my club today. Will you be alright by yourself?”

David’s smile fell a little and a strange expression crossed his face but Cook couldn’t decipher what it was. He wondered if maybe David expected to go with him or something, which was out of the question. But looking at the boy’s face he didn’t really think that was it. There was something bothering him about it though, and Cook decided he really didn’t want to know what it was.

He turned to leave but then stopped. “Uh… you can read anything from the library if you like and I’ve made sure Kristin will bring you luncheon later on.” Then he hurried out before he had to hear David’s unyieldingly polite thanks.

He stayed out longer than he expected, and drank more than he expected too. It was after ten before he walked through the door. His staff was used to this behaviour but David wasn’t. He hurriedly shrugged out of his coat before making his way up to David’s room. As always, he knocked first and David told him to come in. He was curled up under his blankets, a book close to his face, the pages open somewhere in the middle.

“How was your day?” David asked.

Cook’s brain was a little fuzzy and he held onto the wooden end of the bed for balance. “Fine,” he said.

“You can sit down if you like,” David said.

Cook hesitated but then figured it was okay, as long as he sat right at the end. He leaned against the edge of the mattress, hardly sitting on it at all. He looked over to David who was watching him. “What are you reading?” he asked, effectively distracting the boy from scrutinising his every move.

“Oh, it’s _Pride and Prejudice_ …” he said.

Cook nodded. “That was my mother’s favourite book. Well, according to my father.”

“Where is your father?” David asked.

“Both my parents are dead,” Cook said.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Cook stood up then, “Anyway, I’m going to bed.” He looked at the pile of books on David’s night stand. “It looks like you won’t need me around tomorrow, so I’ll see you in the evening.”

David stared at the books and didn’t look in Cook’s direction. “Alright,” he said in a small voice.

~*~

The next day, as most of the members of the club dispersed to go home and have supper with their families, Cook sat wondering what he should do. He wanted to go home too, had wanted it all day. All he wanted to do was sit and talk to David. But that was the thing that was keeping him away. It scared him.

He did this every night in the weeks to come. Eventually, he always gave up and went home, with such a nervous need. It pleased him to see David smile when he walked through the door. Sometimes the boy was even waiting at the bottom of the stairs in the hallway for him. Cook looked forward to their nightly discussions of the books David had been reading. Cook loved listening to his interpretations of _Great Expectations_ or _Robinson Crusoe_. It was better than any of the conversations he had engaged in about literature with his friends at the club. They never seemed to understand the characters and their feelings the way David did.

So that’s how it was for several months. They passed by so quickly. With David’s presence in his home, Cook felt like he was becoming a whole new person. A much happier person. When he thought of his future (something he hadn’t been prone to doing before he met David), he did not want to imagine it without the boy. But in the back of his mind, he knew he couldn’t hold him captive forever.


	4. Part Three

**three: dependency, disability**

One night several weeks later, Cook could not sleep. He tossed and turned without knowing for how long. Finally, he got out of bed and something pulled him towards the window. He looked down into the garden and saw David’s unmistakable figure sitting on a bench, his body illuminated by moonlight. Cook wondered what he was doing; how long he had been down there for, and if he was freezing. He wondered what David must be thinking about. Not for the first time, Cook felt guilt seep through him.

He desperately wanted to go down there, to save the boy, as always, from what was troubling him. But he couldn’t. He was the cause of the boy’s sadness, he knew it. He had been so sure he was doing the right thing by giving David a place to stay, where he didn’t have to give his body to strangers just to survive. But was he really doing the right thing? Was he keeping David from freedom? He thought maybe “saving” David was just an excuse for his selfishness at wanting David close. When he thought of David going back out there, touching and being touched by other men, he couldn’t stand it. He had never felt so jealous about anything in his life.

Cook had never even been so close to anyone before. In fact, he had never really known love at all. He had never felt it from his father, the only family he had. This just made the whole situation with David even more intense. He had always known deep down that he was never truly satisfied with his life, though he had tried to trick himself into thinking he was. Now though, he didn’t think he could ever go back to believing he was happy before he met David.

How could he really save David anyway, when he didn’t know how to fix his own problems? Problems like that it was possible he was falling in love with David. He had no idea how to control his feelings, and it made him feel weak. He wanted to keep David in his home forever because he made Cook so happy. But he also wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. If he didn’t get too close, he couldn’t fall any deeper.

He went back to his bed and lay as still as he could, his ears alert. He couldn’t relax until he heard David return to his room.

 

~*~

 

Cook got perhaps a few hours sleep before he decided to rise, much earlier than he usually did. He washed with cold water and dressed in the dim light. He quietly left his room and tiptoed past David’s door and down the stairs, locking himself into the withdrawing room. He sat at the piano not moving, then he lifted his arms and his hands automatically drifted over the keys. His fingers knew what to do before he had even thought about it. It was as if the song was already written in his mind and he just had to play it.

And then the rhythm made its way up his arms and into his memory. He stopped only briefly to make notes with the blank lined music sheets he kept close by. Usually when he wrote it was only the music but this time the lyrics were already there, he didn’t have any choice in the matter. He wrote them down, but he could not bring himself to sing them.

He was in there for longer than he realised because when he had finished the sun was fully up. When he came out of the withdrawing room he found David sitting at the bottom of the stairs. David spoke before Cook had time to ask him what he was doing there.

“Was that you?” he asked. “I heard music.”

“It was nothing,” Cook said, waving his hand. He held the papers, carefully rolled up, in the other.

“It sounded wonderful! Can you play something for me?” David asked eagerly.

Cook shook his head. “No, David,” he said with finality.

But David persisted, “Why not?”

For a brief moment Cook actually considered it, he hated to deny David of anything. But then an irrational burst of anger erupted inside him. He was trying to hide his feelings from David, not expose his heart and soul to him! He wouldn’t let that happen and he hated that he almost did.

“I said ‘no’!” Cook had raised his voice and David recoiled slightly. He stared up at Cook with disappointed eyes, and Cook knew he was disappointed in Cook’s behaviour, not the fact that he couldn’t hear the music.

David turned and silently made his way to the dining room and Cook stomped up the stairs. He hovered outside of David’s room. He didn’t feel right about going in there. It wasn’t just a spare room any more, it was David’s room. But it was the room where he kept his music box, so he had to. He opened the door timidly and hurried over to the wardrobe. He pulled the door open and pushed aside David’s pristine silk and cotton shirts, the colours Cook had specifically chosen because of how they would look against his skin.

Cook reached up to the very back of the very top shelf and found the dusty box. He opened it and placed the sheets inside, quickly closing it again. He considered taking the box out with him and keeping it in his own room from now on but he didn’t think he could stand to have it so close to him. Keeping the music close by would only remind him of all the emotions he had let himself feel, and he couldn’t stand the guilt. So he pushed the box back into its spot, making sure to place other old boxes in front of it.

He made his way back over to the door just as David entered. “Cook!” he said in surprise. “I thought I heard something…What are you doing in here?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

Cook went straight to defensive, “This is my house! I can go where I like!”

David gave him a wary look. “I know that. I was just…” he shook his head. “I was just looking for you. I came to tell you I was sorry.”

Cook screwed up his face in confusion. “You did? What for?”

“For pressuring you. About the music.”

“Oh… No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Cook said stiffly.

“It’s alright,” David said calmly.

“No, David. It’s not alright! I shouldn’t have done that and you shouldn’t think it’s alright that I did.” David just gave him a curious look in response. Cook sighed. “Let’s just go have breakfast.” He laid a hand on David’s shoulder to guide him from the room; he couldn’t stop himself from letting it linger for longer than was necessary.

 

~*~

 

That night, after supper, they were sitting in the library, as they usually did, when Cook abruptly stood up. “I’m going out,” he told David, it was the only explanation he gave. David looked up from his book, startled. He seemed to study Cook for a moment, taking in his sweaty brow and flushed cheeks, suddenly a shadow of understanding passed over his face. Cook reddened even more and he abruptly turned and left the room.

He had been watching David so intently. The firelight was dancing across his flawless skin, and he would occasionally dart his tantalisingly pink tongue out between his perfectly plump lips. Cook had begun sweating profusely, even though he was sitting quite far from the fire. Then he had simply had to get away. He couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his coat and walked out the front door without even telling Michael or Kristin where he was going. It had been a while. He needed this.

He hailed a cab and the whole ride there all he could think about was David and the look he had given Cook. How dare David of all people look at him in that way? David couldn’t judge him. Or so Cook kept telling himself. It seemed easier to be mad at David, than face the fact that he was angry at himself.

Like he always did, he asked the cabbie to drop him about five minutes away from the district and from there he walked. It wasn’t hard to find a boy willing to do the job, and he eagerly followed him into the alley, longing for the distraction.

The boy sank to his knees and Cook made fast work of his pants buttons. The boy expertly took him in his hands, working him to full attention, and telling him how big he was. Cook had heard it all before, and he thrust his hips forward, begging to be engulfed in the boy’s skilful mouth. He threw his head back and waited for the pleasure to fog over his other senses.

But even as the boy sucked his cock, Cook still could not get David from his mind. He thought about the boy who was in his house right now, probably worrying about him. Probably biting his lips in concern. He thought about those lips. One of the most torturous parts about having David around was that Cook couldn’t touch or kiss those lips. Or have those lips kiss, or suck, him. He thought about what it would feel like if it were David’s plump pink lips wrapped around him. Probably a hundred times better than any other experience he’d had.

He opened his eyes and stared down at the boy below him, forcing David from his mind and trying to concentrate solely on the boy in front of him. Thinking about David in that moment was the last thing he should be doing and the very thing he was trying to avoid. Imagining he was with David. He had to stop thinking about David that way; he couldn’t do that to him. It was wrong. What Cook was doing was wrong. He wasn’t good like David. He couldn’t let David end up like him.

But as the physical pleasure took over he found it more and more difficult to control his thoughts. Without realising what was happening his thoughts kept drifting back to David’s lips and Cook almost believed that he was back at home with David, in his bed and not in some dark alley. The images, just like his feelings for the boy, refused to disappear. It was too late and he was coming.

When the boy raised himself from his knees to look at Cook expectantly, his slightly smug expression turned to anxiousness. “Hey Mister, are you alright? I didn’t hurt you or anything?”

“What?” Cook asked, confused. The boy was staring at his face, looking worried. Cook raised his hand to his face dumbly and found his cheek wet with tears. He choked, feeling a sob rise in his throat. “I’m fine,” he said with a raspy voice. He thrust some money at the boy who stared at the amount in shock. “Go,” Cook said. The boy looked at him apprehensively for one more moment before scurrying off. Cook hoped the money he gave him would keep him off the streets, for a while at least.

Cook leaned against the grubby wall as he tried to compose himself. He was suddenly finding it very hard to breathe and he wondered for one crazy moment if he was dying. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe as evenly and slowly as he could. It seemed to work because his breathing calmed after a while, though it left his body shaking. He made his way out of the alley with wobbly legs and he knew he wouldn’t be back any time soon. These excursions had always been like a quick solution to Cook, a hidden world that he could escape in for a few moments. But now he knew that it wouldn’t solve his problems.

 

~*~

 

When Cook got home he found Michael waiting for him. They didn’t say much to each other, just the polite banter that was expected. But when Michael said, “Goodnight, Sir,” the way he usually did, there was something else in his voice. He sounded concerned.

In the dark of the hallway Cook could see that there was no light peeking from underneath David’s door. He was both oddly relieved and disappointed. He shrugged out of his dirty clothes and left them in a pile on the floor. He climbed into the chilly sheets on his bed and lay shivering until the exhaustion finally lulled him into sleep.

He awoke much later than usual and was quite surprised at how late he had slept in. There was a knock at his door and he expected it to be Michael but when he told whoever it was to come in, he was slightly panicked when David stuck his head into the room.

“Good morning,” he said. His voice wasn’t as bright as usual, and he seemed a little hesitant, but he smiled.

“Good morning,” Cook replied.

“I brought you breakfast,” David said, and then he disappeared for a second out into the hallway and returned with a tray in his hands. He carefully made his way over to the bed, watching that he didn’t spill anything. “Sit up,” he instructed and Cook obediently pushed his pillows against the headboard and sat back. He made sure the covers were securely around him, acutely aware that he was naked.

David laid the tray across Cook’s lap and then lifted the small teapot and poured the steaming liquid into a cup. Cook watched him in wonderment. When he had fussed over Cook’s tea sufficiently he smiled down at the older man. “Do you… mind if I stay a while?” he asked. Cook shook his head. David moved back and settled down on the end of Cook’s bed, a strange imitation of Cook’s previous actions in David’s room.

David watched Cook as he ate his toast, neither of them speaking. Cook could tell that there was something brewing and finally, though he hadn’t planned what to say, he spoke. “David… about last night…”

“Yes?” David said.

“Uh… I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, with my… actions.” David nodded but didn’t say anything in response and Cook barrelled on. “It won’t happen again.”

“It won’t?” David asked.

“It won’t.” Cook confirmed. David nodded again and then there was silence, which once again Cook felt he had to break. “Umm, would you like to go to the opera tonight? I’m sure I can get tickets.”

David’s eyes widened and he said, “Really?” with such awe that Cook knew he _had_ to get tickets no matter what.

“As soon as I’ve finished my breakfast and gotten dressed I will go out and get some,” he declared.

 

~*~

 

It had been a little harder than he expected, it seemed the opera was sold out. But finally, just as he was thinking he would have to go home and tell David he couldn’t get them and have to see the smile drain from the boy’s face, he had some luck. He had gone to his club for a drink and run into an elderly gentleman who had been a friend of his fathers. And it just so happened that he had tickets but couldn’t attend.

Cook had thanked him profusely and completely forgetting about his drink, he ran outside and told Jason to take him straight home.

He found David in the library. “I got them!” he said enthusiastically and his heart skipped when David smiled widely. They spent the rest of the afternoon playing chess. Then they had an early dinner and got ready.

When David came out of his room wearing the black suit Cook had bought him for the first time, Cook was unfortunately reminded again in a jarring way just how stunning David was. He had parted his hair and slicked it down with oil and his cheeks were rosy from being scrubbed. He held his bow tie out to Cook. “Could you do this up for me please? I’ve never had to wear one of these before…”

“Of course,” Cook said. He slipped the piece of fabric over David’s head and around his neck, bringing the ends together under his chin. He tried to do it as efficiently as possible but his close proximity to David’s face made his heart speed up and his fingers numbly fumbled with the tie. “It’s a little tricky…” he said apologetically. He pulled one hand away to wipe the sweat off on his trousers.

David just smiled up at him, his eyes sparkling. It was almost as if he was _enjoying_ Cook’s discomfort. Finally, Cook finished tying it and they made their way down the stairs. Michael met them there and he first helped Cook into his coat and then David into his new coat, which was kept on the hook right beside Cook’s.

On the ride there David talked animatedly about how excited he was and how he had never been to the opera before. It was very crowded when they got there and they had to dodge through the masses of people to check their coats. When they had done that they decided they should go and find their seats, but on the way Cook stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh, no!” he said and swore under his breath.

“What is it?” David asked, concerned.

“An old friend of my father’s – over there. Shit, he’s coming over…”

A pompous looking man with a very young woman hanging on his arm stopped in front of them. “Cook, m’boy, so nice to see you.”

Cook bowed his head slightly and put on a fake smile. “And you.”

The man turned his attention to David then. “Who’s this?

Cook’s eyes darted around as he fought to think of something to say. “This is a relative, from my mother’s side,” he lied. “He’s visiting from the country. David, this is Mr. Cowell.”

David, following Cook, bowed his head also, “Nice to meet you,” he said.

“You don’t look anything alike,” Mr. Cowell informed them. “And I don’t remember your mother being so… dark.”

Suddenly, Cook felt a burst of anger in his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to punch Cowell square in the face. But he looked over at David and the boy seemed to feel Cook’s rage and with his eyes he told Cook that it wasn’t worth it.

Cook smiled tightly. “Excuse me,” he said before walking swiftly away. David hurried after him. Cook found their seats and they wordlessly sat down.

“It doesn’t matter,” David said.

Cook turned to him in exasperation. “It does matter David! Why can’t you see that? You’re so much better than you give yourself credit for. You’re so much better than everyone! Much better than me.”

David looked truly shocked when Cook said that and he sat back in his seat, his eyes staring at the crowds of people trying to find their seats. When he finally spoke, it was very quiet. “That’s not true, Cook. I think it’s _you_ who needs to see that they’re… good enough. Not me.”

Cook didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t even understand what it meant. And luckily the lights dimmed and he was saved from having to ask. He couldn’t concentrate on the play; he just kept looking over at David who was watching it with rapt attention. His face was bright with glee, his enthralment with it making him even more beautiful.

Cook dreaded intermission as he thought David might try to bring up their earlier conversation but he didn’t. Instead he turned to Cook and rambled about how much he was enjoying himself and repeatedly thanked Cook for bringing him. Cook had no desire to go back out into the foyer in case he ran into Cowell again, or anyone else he knew for that matter. He told David he could go and get himself something to drink if he wanted. He reached into his pocket for some money but David declined.

Cook wished he had left because it was uncomfortable to sit in silence waiting for the show to come on, though he was sure he preferred that to talking. He sighed in relief when the lights dimmed again.

He couldn’t follow the story after having failed to pay attention the first half and the music wasn’t affecting him the way it normally did. He went back to dangerously watching David. Once, David turned to him and he quickly looked towards the stage. He stayed that way for about five minutes before tentatively turning back to David again.

After the show, David was oddly quiet. He followed Cook as they hurried to collect their coats before the crowds got too big and then they went outside, searching for where Jason was waiting with the carriage. When they found him they quickly got inside where the wind couldn’t get at them. “I hope Jason’s not too cold,” David said absently.

There was a bit of a traffic jam which irritated Cook greatly but David was as calm as ever. Cook had his face practically pressed against the small glass window trying to see what the hold up was when David started singing softly. Cook turned slowly to look at the boy who was looking out of the window as well, except he wasn’t looking at the traffic, but up at the sky. His voice got a little louder and it seemed he was singing a song from the show, even though he had never seen it before that night. Cook didn’t know how he could possibly have remembered it.

Cook had heard David hum softly before but it was nothing like this. This was startlingly melodic, hypnotic and haunting and permeated Cook’s very soul. David glanced at him, he smiled and continued singing. Cook was so fascinated that he hadn’t even realised that they had begun moving and all too soon they were back at home.

In a daze Cook followed David up the stairs, nodding vaguely as David said goodnight. As he walked over to his washbasin he felt a familiar tightening in his chest and he began to hyperventilate. His ears rang with David’s voice and David’s face blinked behind Cook’s eyelids, alternating with blinding lights. Cook knew he was going to fall. He reached out to the basin table, something to hold onto for stability, but in the process he knocked over the jug of water. It crashed into pieces and then Cook was lying amongst the puddles and shards of ceramics.

It was all black. Then he opened his eyes and David was on his knees, peering down at him and looking completely alarmed. “Cook!” he shook him. “Cook… are you alright?”

Cook’s life was becoming too much to bear. He needed to get away. Instead of answering the boy he said, “David… I need to go away… to my house… in the country.”

David nodded. He pulled Cook close and rocked him against his chest. “We’ll go tomorrow. Let’s just get you to bed, and then I’ll go and tell Michael – ”

Cook blanched at the ‘we’. He tried to talk. “No, I…”

“Shhhh,” was David’s response.

He couldn’t go with David. This was David’s fault. The boy… asphyxiated him. It wasn’t just his mind that was being tortured now, it was his body. His feelings for David were taking over every aspect of his life. He wanted to be free from the power David seemed to have over him, at least for just a while. But being held so close and lovingly by David, he didn’t want that to end either. Cook clutched at him, pressing his face into David’s chest. They stayed like that for a long time.


	5. Part Four

**four: the truth**

Eventually, after they had lain in the water from the spilt jug for an unknown amount of time, David managed to get Cook up and over to his bed. The older man had flinched when David started to remove his clothes for him but he was too tired to fight it. He crawled under the covers and was instantly asleep.

The curtains hadn’t been closed the night before and Cook was woken by the very first rays of sunlight on his face. He lay in bed, listening to the birds as they woke and started conversing with each other. There was a dull ache in his side from where he had fallen but it wasn’t too bad.

He was just wondering what the time could be when he heard a tap on the door. Whoever was behind it didn’t wait for permission to enter and when Cook saw David’s familiar face pop through the partially opened door, Cook realised he was fine with that. He moved to get up but David stopped him.

“It’s still early,” he said as he walked over to Cook’s side. He placed a hand over Cook’s sweaty forehead and all Cook could do was stare up at him, trying to capture the moment forever. “You’re a bit warm,” he said, as he moved his hand away. “I told Michael about you wanting to go away. He’s organising the whole thing. I tried to help but he just told me to go look after you, so here I am! I think I was just annoying him too much,” he giggled.

“About that…” Cook started. “David, I –”

“We can catch the nine o’clock train or the eleven o’clock,” David interrupted. He stood up and walked over to Cook’s wardrobe. He opened the door and peered inside. “If you want to go at nine you’ll have to get up shortly. I’ve already packed my bag – Kristen found me a spare one – but we’ll have to get yours done.” On tiptoes he looked into the higher most shelf and then pulled out a flattened duffel bag. He wiped some dust off the side and then opened it up and laid it at Cook’s feet. He then began busying himself in filling it with shirts.

Cook could only watch him. He knew he wasn’t going to convince David not to come with him. David was probably really worried about him after what had happened and Cook was pretty scared about it himself. He didn’t want to be alone when and if it happened again.

Maybe a trip to the country with David wouldn’t be so bad. The fresh air would do him good. And he liked David’s company. It was just that he liked it too much.

“So,” David was saying. “Nine or eleven? I’m not sure how long it takes to get there…”

“About three hours,” Cook croaked as he sat up and ran his hands over his face, which made a harsh scratching noise as they ran over his stubble. “What’s the time now?”

“About quarter to seven. Will you be ready in an hour and a half?”

Cook nodded. “I’ll be ready. And you don’t have to pack my bag.”

David gave him a disbelieving look, but he stopped the folding shirts. “Alright then, I’ll go get you some tea then, shall I?”

“Yes, please,” Cook said, and he watched David leave the room before walking over to his basin. The shards and puddles of the smashed jug had been cleaned up. The jug had been replaced with a new one sitting inside the basin. He was surprised to find the water lukewarm when he poured it out. Someone had been into his room before he had woken up. There was no doubt in his mind that that person was David.

 

~*~

 

They took a train into a small village, near where Cook’s cottage was. Cook had slept most of the ride there and David spent his time with his face pressed against the window. He had never been outside of the city, he told Cook. When they got there, Cook borrowed a horse as he normally did, and this time, another for David.

They had a little difficulty attaching all their belongings to the saddles but eventually they got it. Cook jumped up onto his horse with ease, but when he looked back down, David was still standing beside his horse looking at it with a puzzled expression on his face. Cook fought the urge to laugh. He got back down and walked over to where David was standing. “You need some help?” he asked with barely controlled amusement.

“Well, I haven’t ridden one of these things before,” David said, a little defensively.

Cook smiled, “Just put your foot here… and, uh, I’m just going to have to touch you here…” he placed one hand on each side of David’s waist. He tried not to think about the last situation he was in that was back-to-front like this. “I’ll hoist you up on the count of three, alright?” David nodded. Cook couldn’t see his face but he could tell by the way David’s body tensed that he was apprehensive. “I won’t let you fall,” Cook reassured him. “One, two… three!” He held on to David tightly as the boy scrambled his other leg over the side. When he was quite secure in his position he smiled down at Cook and thanked him coyly.

Cook dazedly walked back to his horse and it took him two tries before he made it on again. For never having rode a horse before David was pretty good. He seemed a little scared the first couple of minutes, exclaiming over how high up he was, but after that it was like he was a natural, and Cook told him so. David grinned, looking pleased with himself.

It was about half an hour’s ride before they got to the cottage. It was small and painted yellow. Cook pointed to it when it came into view. “It’s lovely!” David said. He gave Cook another of his excited grins and Cook couldn’t fathom how he could take so much pleasure in simply looking at a silly little house. But that was David.

The boy stumbled a little when he got down from his horse, but Cook was relieved he could do it himself. They tied the horses up, took off their saddles and bridles and the luggage, and gave them food and water. Then they walked towards the house. Cook opened the door with the key he had around his neck and entered the dim room. They were greeted with a slightly musty smell.

The room was small, probably the size of Cook’s library in his town house. There was a bench and some cupboards in the back, right corner, beside a door that led out to a small lean-to. In the middle of the room was a table with two chairs and on the left wall there was a couch and a bookcase. Beside it was a ladder that led up to a loft which served as the “bedroom”. There was no bed up there, just a mattress placed over a low square of wood. Cook was a little embarrassed by the state of the cabin. Normally he was the only one to ever come here. He could feel David trying to peer around him to get a better look and reluctantly he walked further into the room.

“Um, perhaps we should open the windows,” he said, “it’s been a while since I was here last.”

David nodded and they each walked to one side of the cottage to open curtains and windows. Cook jumped when he heard a crash and turned around to find David crouched on the ground looking up at him sheepishly. “Sorry,” he said, he picked up something as he stood up. “I accidentally knocked this over.”

“What is it?” Cook asked.

“It’s a, um, liquor bottle.”

“Oh… here, I’ll get rid of it.” David handed Cook the bottle and they went back to their task. Cook felt relieved but also a little frightened by the fact that he hadn’t thought to bring any whisky with him this time. He had nothing to try and numb the feelings that were to inevitably arise around David.

When they had the little room airing out nicely, they began to unpack their things. Luckily, Cook had brought sheets for the bed with him. He climbed up the loft and began his attempt at making the bed. Shortly after, he heard David climb up too. He heard a giggle and turned to find David watching him and laughing over Cook’s atrocious bed making skills. “Here, I’ll help you,” he said as he took one end of the sheet.

“Um, we’ll have to share. I hope you don’t mind,” Cook said as they worked, keeping his eyes on the task.

David was silent for a moment before saying “I don’t mind.” Cook wasn’t sure how _he_ felt about sharing a bed with David. Mostly petrified, he decided.

When they had finished making the bed they climbed back down the ladder and started unpacking the food they had brought with them. “Maybe we could go hunting,” Cook suggested.

David screwed up his nose. “Er…you can. I don’t think I could kill anything. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise.” He should have known David wouldn’t enjoy that, he told himself. Cook used to be the same. He had hated knowing where his food came from as a child. He remembered one night he had refused to eat his dinner because it was rabbit, and that day he had just rescued a limping rabbit in the forest. Flospy, he named it, he had been so worried he was about to eat Flopsy’s brother or sister that he had started crying. His father had gotten absolutely furious with him and the next day his father took him out and made Cook shoot a deer. After that day Cook lost all qualms he had about killing animals. Not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t fight against the way his father wanted him to be. He didn’t really want to, because having his father’s approval about _something_ was the closest he ever got to affection.

Cook admired that David still felt compassion towards helpless animals. But it reminded him that David was so much more innocent than Cook, and Cook wanted to keep him that way.

“What about… fishing?” he asked.

“Um… fishing’s alright,” David said, shrugging. “Is there a lake around here?”

“A few miles down the road. Maybe we could do that tomorrow,” Cook said. “Why don’t we just go for a ride this afternoon?”

“Are you feeling well enough?” David asked.

Cook smiled, although it was rather forced. “I’m fine.”

David returned the smile. “Alright then. I need to practice anyway.”

 

~*~

 

They started at a walk but soon David had urged his horse to a trot. He was laughing animatedly as they rode through the fields and trees. They eventually stopped when they reached the edge of a property Cook said they probably shouldn’t enter. They slid down off their horses and David cooed at his, running his hands over the creature’s long black mane. They had canteens filled with water and Cook was gulping down his. When he had had enough he put the top back on and watched as David went to take a drink from his canteen. After he had done that he turned to Cook and gave him a funny look.

“What is it?” Cook asked. And then before he knew what was happening David had dumped the contents of his canteen all over Cook’s head and was running off laughing. Cook stared after him, dumbstruck.

Cook shook himself out of his stupor. “You little…!” he yelled and went chasing after him. David screeched louder and sped up, occasionally turning back and flashing Cook devilish grins. Then he turned and started running backwards, poking his tongue out and making funny faces. At the sight of his joyous expression Cook felt a strange pull in his stomach and in the next few steps he made the feeling moved to his chest.

He stopped abruptly, and leaned over to place his hands on his knees, willing himself to calm down. He sat down in the grass and leaned over with his head between his legs. He breathed in and out very slowly. He heard footsteps in the grass. “Cook?” David’s breathless, worried voice asked. Cook didn’t look up, just listened to the grass rustling as David sat down next to him. He felt a warm hand on his back and it sent a shiver over his body and made his heart beat harder. He shrugged it off. “I’m fine. Just not used to all this exercise.”

“Are you sure?” David asked, not sounding convinced at all. “You’re not having… whatever it was that happened last night?”

Cook stood up, trying his hardest to walk in a straight line. “I’m fine.”

Maybe if he kept saying it, it would be true.

 

~*~

 

When they returned to the house, they were both drenched in sweat. Cook dragged out the slightly rusting tub and went to work boiling water from the well. It was a warm day so they set it up outside. He told David he could go first and before he could leave, to go back inside and hide, David had removed his shirt and Cook couldn’t help but stare.

He stood, rooted to the spot, gaping. David’s body wasn’t overly muscular; there was still a trace of boyishness about him. But his upper arms were strong looking and his stomach was perfectly taut. The setting sun reflected across his skin, turning it a delicious gold. David turned around to place his shirt in a place where it wouldn’t get wet. He stopped when he noticed Cook still standing there. “Oh,” he said. He looked like he was going to say something else, but instead he waited for Cook to talk first.

“S-sorry,” Cook stuttered, and then he rushed back inside. He didn’t know what to do with himself when he was in there. He was afraid he would be too tempted to take a peak out the window if he stayed so he climbed up to the loft and sat with his head buried in his hands, trying to extinguish the desire he felt for David. But the images were fresh and too hard to ignore. Seeing the boy like that was the last thing he needed.

This was the position David found him in when he came to tell Cook it was his turn. “Are you still feeling unwell?” he asked him.

Cook was getting a little sick of David’s fussing. Every time he asked Cook how he was feeling Cook was reminded of exactly why he wasn’t feeling well. “I’m fine, David,” he said, with more edge to his voice than he meant to.

If David was put off by that he didn’t mention it. “I filled the bath for you,” he said as he climbed down the ladder.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Cook said as he followed him.

“I wanted to.”

Cool felt simultaneously guilty and annoyed. Why did David have to be so goddamn good and nice and _perfect_ all the time? Cook wished for once David could just be… more like Cook. Then Cook wouldn’t have to fight so hard at keeping his desires to himself. He wouldn’t feel like he was ruining David just by thinking about the less than innocent things he would like to do to him. But at the same time, he knew he wouldn’t feel so strongly about David if he _were_ more like Cook. He didn’t want anyone else, he wanted David. Just the way he was.

 

~*~

 

They had decided to get up early to go fishing and when Cook awoke the next morning, David was curled up beside him. It had taken Cook forever to fall asleep the night before; sleeping in the same bed as David was torturous. They had both laid down very far away from each other, Cook teetering right on the edge. David had fallen asleep quickly and then shifted to face Cook. With the light of the candle Cook watched the boy sleep. His lips were slightly open and Cook could swear he felt the warm air of David’s breath dance across his face despite the distance.

And then he had become aware, and horrified, that he was growing hard. He rolled over and closed his eyes, trying to think of anything else. He was not going to touch himself and certainly not when David could wake up and find him in that position. That would be too mortifying to bear. After the incident the other night with the boy in the alley he had made a vow that he wouldn’t even touch himself anymore because he knew that if he did the images of David pleasuring him would surely plague him again and that made him feel too incredibly guilty.

He had finally fallen into a fitful sleep and when he woke up David was no longer on the other side of the bed but right beside him; his legs curled up and pressed against Cook’s side and his warm forehead pressed against Cook’s arm. Cook didn’t want to wake the boy. He wanted to lie like that forever. He turned his head so that their faces were inches apart and he felt David’s small puffs of breath on his face. He wanted to soak up the moment and save it in his memory forever. He couldn’t help but think how nicely they fit together. When David was asleep, and snuggled up to Cook like that, Cook could pretend that it was okay to feel how he did.

When David stirred Cook closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He didn’t want David to know that he was aware of their close proximity, and enjoying it. He felt ashamed of himself. He expected David to move away, but instead David just burrowed into his little cocoon by Cook’s side and gave a contented sigh.

That was when Cook pulled away. He faked a yawn and stretched his arms over his head. He leaned up on his elbows and stared down at David, who looked up at him with his wide and disappointed eyes. “Time to get up,” Cook said, nudging David a little roughly. David sighed again, and it was not at all contented as it had been before. He obediently threw the covers back and crawled out of bed. Cook hurried down the ladder, trying to ignore David’s apparent morning rituals of rubbing his fists into his eyes and running his hands through his wild black hair.

When they had gotten washed and dressed, Cook got the fishing equipment ready while David packed them a lunch of bread, cheese and apples. Cook was ready before David was. Cook watched David and wondered how long a person could possibly fuss over a hunk of bread and cheese. The boy hummed to himself as he did it and Cook stared at the back of his head and willed himself not to analyse the domestic dynamics between them.

David got onto his horse perfectly fine by himself this time and they rode in silence to the lake. Cook could tell that David was really enjoying himself because every time Cook glanced at him David had a dreamy smile on his face.

Although he still felt it was a bad idea, him spending so much time with David alone, Cook was sort of pleased David had come with him. Just knowing he was able to bring David some form of happiness eased his guilt about his feelings for David ever so slightly.

They didn’t have a boat but there was a dock on the lake and they sat at the end, their legs hanging over the edge. “I’ve never gone fishing before,” David said.

“Really? Well, it’s pretty easy. You just sit there, waiting for them to bite,” Cook said.

David giggled. “I can do that.” Cook showed David how to put the bait on the hook and throw the line out. When they had done that, Cook fell silent again but David spoke. “It smells so good here. Not all… rotten like the Thames.”

Cook nodded. “Yeah, it does.”

David breathed in deeply and sighed. He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the bright morning sun. “You’re so lucky to be able to come out here whenever you like.”

Cook had never really thought about it that way. He had never felt particularly comfortable in either the country _or_ the city. But seeing his surroundings through David’s eyes, it became clearer to him that he was pretty lucky. “I guess I am,” he said.

“Did you come out here with your father?” David asked.

Cook gave him a sharp look but David seemed to be determinedly not looking back. Cook stared down into the water and answered quietly. “No. Not right here. We had houses all over. All big cold houses that always had more servants than they ever had guests. I sold those places and found this place on my own. By accident really. I was riding and I was alone and had gone too far. I found the cottage and it was all run down. I spent the night there and then the next day I went into the town to find the owner. And I bought it from him that day. It was the day after my father died.”

“How did he die?” David asked. Then quickly he added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Consumption.”

“Oh,” David nodded. It wasn’t an uncommon illness.

“I was quite relieved, to be honest,” Cook said. He had never told anyone this and he was distantly afraid of what it meant that he was revealing this information to David but the urge to get it out was more overpowering. “He was sick for a long time, but before that he acted just the same. He hated life. Maybe that was why he got so sick? And he didn’t ever want to be around me because it was my fault my mother died.”

“How could it have possibly been your fault?” David whispered.

“She died giving birth to me.”

“But that’s not your fault!” David said, outraged.

Cook shrugged. “My father thought so. He never said it, but I could tell. I would catch him looking at me sometimes… He said I was just like her and so he pushed me away. I guess it hurt too much. He could have just loved me for being her child but he didn’t, he couldn’t get past the resentment.”

They sat silently for a moment before David said, “I’m sure he did love you. Deep down.”

Cook hung his head. “I don’t think so.”

David took one of his hands from around the fishing pole and placed it on Cook’s knee. Cook flinched but David did not remove his hand. “I know he must have. I don’t know how he couldn’t.”

Just then David quickly pulled his hand away and grabbed onto his fishing rod. “Oh my gosh,” he said. “I think I caught a fish!”

“Pull it in!” Cook yelled.

“Help me!” David cried in a panicky voice. Cook moved and wrapped his arms around David’s body; he placed one hand on the rod and the other over David’s hand. Together they pulled the fish in. It was a pretty big fish and it flopped around on the deck a few times before going still. “Aww, poor fish,” David said wistfully.

Cook shook his head in amusement, “You won’t be saying that later when he’s all grilled up in butter.” He dipped a bucket into the lake and filled it with a little water and then put the fish in it, hoping to keep it cool.

After that Cook caught a fish too, although his was much smaller. Then they sat for about an hour and a half without anything.

“I’m hungry,” David said.

“We could have our lunch now then,” Cook offered.

David grinned and opened up the carefully wrapped package that was beside him. Cook saw why it had taken him so long to prepare. There were several neatly made sandwiches in there and when Cook bit into one he tasted the pickled onions that Carly made every summer. When they had finished eating the sun was beating down on them and Cook noticed that David wasn’t sitting in such a perky position anymore. They sat for quite a while, waiting for another fish to bite but it was pretty apparent they had already caught all they were getting that day.

“Gosh, it’s so warm today!” David said eventually. “Maybe we should go swimming?” He looked over at Cook hopefully.

Cook frowned. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to see David shirtless again. “We’ll disturb the fish.”

“I don’t think we’re going to catch anymore fish, Cook,” David said.

Cook stared down at the two fish in the bucket. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So let’s do it!” David exclaimed. He pulled the line back in and laid the rod beside him. He stood up and began taking off his shirt. Cook really wanted to look away, he did, but he couldn’t resist. Luckily, though, it was the only piece of clothing David removed. He jumped in the water and Cook watched anxiously, waiting for his head to pop up. When it did he splashed water at Cook. “Get in!”

“Why do you like dumping water on me?” Cook asked playfully, getting into the spirit of it and already shedding his shirt. He jumped into the water, close enough to David so that the force would splash water over the boy’s head, but not close enough to harm him. Sure enough when he resurfaced David was coughing and wiping his eyes. Cook laughed and soon they were having an enormous splashing fight.

They swam around for a while, the cold water quickly warming, having races which David always won. Cook was surprised that almost every time he looked towards David the boy was staring back with a huge grin on his face. That was when Cook would dunk his head and swim away. Eventually, he got too tired and hauled himself up onto the dock. He lay on his stomach to let the back of his pants dry and from that position he watched David continue to splash around.

When David finally got out. the back of Cook’s pants were thoroughly dry and he was on his back drying his front. David lay down on his stomach as Cook had, resting his head on his arms that were folded in front of him. Cook could feel David’s eyes on him. But he refused to look back.

 

~*~

 

That night the nice weather dissolved and it started to rain, hard. Cook and David had to run around the little house to place jars and pots underneath the leaks in the ceiling. Soon they were hearing thunder and flashes of lightning were momentarily brightening the dimly lit room. They dragged the couch across the room so that it was right in front of the fireplace and listened to the rain as they ate their fish.

When they had finished, Cook turned to David, who was sitting with his knees up and his arms wrapped around them and finally had the courage to ask the boy something he had wondered for a while. He felt that since he had told David about his family, David could tell Cook about his. All he knew was that David’s father had sent him away to fend for himself at sixteen. He wanted to know what David’s relationship was like with his father. He needed to know that David’s father truly loved his son.

“What about your family?” he asked.

David raised an eyebrow. “What about them?”

“I want you to tell me about them. I told you about my father, now it’s your turn…. Please.”

David looked into the fire and took a breath. “He’s not a bad person at all. But he’s very strict. And religious.” David fiddled with a hole in the upholstery of the sofa. “Like I said… he would be devastated if he found out what I really did for money. He probably wouldn’t be pleased about you either.”

Cook shifted uncomfortably, wondering what words David would use if he were to ever describe their situation to his father. David continued, “I know he thought he was doing the right thing when he sent me away. He wanted me to become a man. I guess I wasn’t ready.”

Cook thought that it was true; David was a boy, not a man yet. But who was to decide what a man really is? And why should David need to be one when he was already the most wonderful person Cook had ever met? “I think you’re fine just the way you are,” Cook said.

David shook his head sadly, then, and looked away. Cook couldn’t understand what that meant, and he was too afraid to ask. “Let’s talk about something else,” David said firmly.

“Alright. Like what?”

“Um… What’s something you really, really love to do?”

Cook thought for a minute, then answered “sleep” as solemnly as possible.

David gave him a disbelieving look, “How can you love sleep? You’re never awake to enjoy it!”

Cook laughed at David’s strangely rational statement. “I will not accept your logic. Sleep is my favourite thing to do,” he said stubbornly.

“So it’s not… playing music?” David said tentatively.

Cook stilled. He could feel David watching him. Then he felt the boy move closer to him. Too close. Impossibly close. His chest was pressing against Cook’s arm. He slowly turned his head even though he wasn’t ready to answer, and was instantly transfixed by the look in David’s eyes. It wasn’t like anything he had ever seen before. It was this hypnosis which made Cook unable to resist as David pulled Cook’s body towards him; the boy sat back and gently pulled Cook’s head down to rest on his chest.

Cook lay there, soaking up the warmth of David’s body, his eyes wide with shock, but he couldn’t move. David ran his fingers through Cook’s hair and he gasped and shivered at the touch. They lay this way for a few moments before Cook finally found his voice. “No,” he whispered.

“Hmm?” David asked sleepily.

“No… music’s not my favourite thing.”

David didn’t say anything in response. His hand stopped lazily running through Cook’s hair and he tugged on it a bit, forcing Cook to raise his head. Cook looked up and found himself incredibly close to David’s face. He stared into David’s eyes and the boy was watching him back, with yielding honesty. He was waiting for Cook to do something. Cook knew he was. Their breathing seemed obscenely loud in the small overheated house. A feeling of claustrophobia, of loss of control, began to seize Cook’s body. He started to panic and broke the gaze.

He thought back to the first night when he had met David, where he couldn’t let David kiss and touch him because he knew the boy didn’t want to. He had wanted David to want him in return, being with David and knowing that it meant nothing to him would have only left Cook feeling just as empty. Now he thought when he looked into the boy’s eyes that David did want Cook back. Cook had convinced himself never to let that hope enter his mind, but now it was there and it made things so much more complicated.

He wanted to kiss David so much, and he certainly didn’t want to hurt the boy by _not_ kissing him. But he couldn’t do it; he couldn’t encourage that… behaviour. It was too late, Cook had already made the decision he would never let David end up like him. Cook knew he couldn’t change who he was. He had always known he was different and always felt like an outcast. He knew the way he felt about other men was wrong. He had promised himself he would prevent David from straying down the same path. David wasn’t as old or as _weak_ as Cook. He didn’t have to be an outcast. He was too good for that, he didn’t deserve it. But now Cook felt whatever he chose to do, he would he hurting David, one way or another.

His head rested on David’s chest again and he let his arm hold on to David’s body as tightly as he could in the awkward position. He tried to calm his breathing but it was difficult when he could feel and hear David’s heart rapidly speed up underneath him. He couldn’t look back up at David’s face, afraid of what he might do. He just held David as close as he could. There was no other way he could comfort the boy, or himself.

They stayed in that position for a long time, long enough for the fire to die down. David’s heart slowed to a soothing beat – a rhythmic lullaby. Their bodies kept each other warm. Cook had calmed so much that he was on the brink of sleep. David slowly moved his hand to rub up and down Cook’s back and the older man exhaled in contentment, but when David’s fingers ran though Cook’s hair, massaging his scalp, Cook released a groan of pleasure and startled himself back to reality. He jerked away, scrambling to stand above the boy, who stared up at him with surprised, hurt eyes.

Cook couldn’t say anything; he just turned around and climbed the ladder up to the loft. David didn’t follow him and even though Cook had not expected him to, he felt disappointment. He lay in bed, waiting anxiously and at the same time feeling completely stupid for doing so. He cursed himself once again for being such a weak person. He should have never have let it happen. He had tried so hard to keep an emotional distance between them and yet it was futile. All the work he had put into it seemed to have completely dissipated to nothing. He was left with a situation that was much worse. Cook hadn’t succeeded in saving David from a life like Cook’s at all; maybe he had even made it worse? He had saved him from the streets and put him into a situation that was just as harming to David’s pure soul. He had just wanted to help David and he couldn’t even do that right. He decided all he could do now was discourage David from those feelings as best he could.

Finally, he crawled out of the bed and peered over the ledge of the loft. David was sleeping fitfully on the sofa and he was shivering slightly. Cook turned back to the bed and picked up a quilt that was sitting on the end. He climbed back down the ladder and placed the quilt over the sleeping boy. He laid his hand over the boy’s heart but he hardly felt a beat. He stared down at him for a moment before pressing a small kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s for your own good.”


	6. Part Five

**five: alike inside**

Cook sat in his garden, back at home in London, in the seat he had seen David perched on in the middle of the night a few weeks previous. He stared at the flowers that he had no participation in growing. No part in creating something so beautiful, and pure.

He felt out of place sitting amongst so much beauty. The flowers all reminded him of David. It was where David belonged, not Cook.

Cook stood and walked over to a yellow rose. He leaned forward and inhaled the scent. Since he and David had returned from the country, Cook had gone back to his old habit of spending almost every waking moment at his club, leaving David to his own devices. When he was away from the boy he would constantly worry that when he returned home David would eventually not be there anymore.

But he always was, waiting for Cook. When Cook saw the smile spread across the boy’s face when he walked through the door, and the glint of something else in his eye, Cook felt guilty, which was nothing new. Because he _liked_ seeing those things, and he knew he shouldn’t.

Cook reached out to caress the velvety petals. So soft and delicate, so easily destroyed. Suddenly his hand enclosed over the flower and he crushed it. When he pulled his hand away, petals fell to the ground, creased and ugly.

Cook couldn’t trust himself with David. He would ruin him.

When he turned around to walk back inside, he saw David standing at the library window, watching him. Cook instantly looked away and instead of returning to the house he sat back down on the bench. He remained there until it was cold and dark, and only then did he feel comfortable sitting in that garden.

 

~*~

 

Cook sat at his piano, early one Sunday morning. He did not play anything particularly melodic, just thumped on the keys, trying to release his frustration. His sleeping patterns had turned into practically non-existent and sometimes he wondered if he was going insane.

The more he tried to suppress his feelings for David, the stronger he seemed to feel for the boy. It was cruel. And David wasn’t helping at all. The boy was now apparently determined to make Cook notice him. He seemed to realise Cook was hiding something, and hiding from David, so when Cook was home, David never let him out of his sight. And he watched the older man with piercing eyes.

When Cook dared to look back, David would fix him with a stare that implied he knew something that Cook didn’t. He gave Cook this exact look when Cook stepped out of the drawing room and found David right outside the door.

“Were you listening?” he demanded.

“Yes,” David said without an ounce of guilt. He stared Cook down with that look and Cook turned and walked into the dining room, having withered under David’s gaze.

They sat down and began their breakfast in silence. Cook determinedly stared at his plate. When he finally spoke, it was to his cup of tea. “I don’t think I’ll go to church with you today, David.”

“What?” David said, clearly surprised and upset. Cook couldn’t help but look up then and seeing the hurt on David’s face he instantly knew he shouldn’t have. He was afraid he would relent.

“You should still go; you can sit with Brooke and her husband. You should… invite one of the girls for a walk in the park afterwards.”

“No,” David said vehemently.

He sounded angry, and David did not get angry. Cook knew it was dangerous territory to continue but he recklessly barrelled on, still ignoring eye contact. He really hated himself for saying it, but it seemed like the most logical way to dissuade David from any… unhealthy ideas he had about his relationship with Cook. It didn’t matter that Cook felt totally hypocritical, he just didn’t want David to be like him.

“I bet you’ve had many sweethearts before, right?” he said. He’d tried it before, and failed miserably, but he was desperate. He felt it was the only way. It sounded so fake and judging by the expression on David’s face, the boy clearly knew it. He looked away and didn’t answer the question.

“I’m sure any one of them is dying for you to ask them. How could they resist? You would make the perfect…um…”

“Stop it!” David shouted suddenly.

Cook finally looked up with a gaping mouth to stare at the angry boy.

“Just stop saying that!” David continued. “Stop saying that I’m perfect. You know I’m not! And you _don’t_ think I’m fine the way I am, like you said you did when we were out at your house in the country. You don’t.”

“Of course I do!” Cook said defensively. “What are you talking about?”

“No you don’t! Because I’m like you, Cook. And you can’t accept it about yourself.”

Cook looked away again, “I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

“Don’t _lie_.”

Cook stood up. “I’m not _lying_. You and I are nothing alike, David.” He had to stop himself from saying anything about David whoring himself. He knew it would have hurt. It would have instantly made David cease this argument, but he wouldn’t do that. Because despite everything, Cook still knew that David was a better person than he was. That was the true reason why they weren’t alike.

The angry expression on David’s face melted and turned into pure pain. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything. Nothing,” Cook said with finality, and he left the room.

 

~*~

 

David went to church without Cook.

And he didn’t come home straight away. Cook wondered if maybe David _had_ taken one of the church girls to the park. While he waited for David to return, Cook tried reading the paper, but he couldn’t concentrate. He even wandered into the drawing room and sat at his piano. But his hands did not touch the keys once. He just sat, staring at them, and when he finally heard David enter though the front door, some murmuring between his unmistakable voice and Kristen’s, Cook did not get up. He listened as the boy climbed the stairs, went into his room and closed the door.

Feeling relieved that David was home again, safe; Cook went to tell Kristin to bring him the rest of the day’s meals in his room. He had no desire to see David again that day. Cook didn’t want David to leave him, but being around him was just as difficult.

When Cook was closed into his room, he poured himself a drink. And then another. He sat by the window, staring down at the empty bench in the garden, surrounded by colourful flowers. He stared at them from a distance, as his bedroom slowly darkened.

He barely ate his supper. Instead he got slowly more and more inebriated and then he stumbled over to his bed, shed himself of his clothes, and lay down in the inviting bed. He was asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.

 

~*~

 

Cook awoke sometime during the night to the sound of heavy rain pelting down on the roof. He snuggled further down in the blankets, hoping the raindrops could lull him back to sleep.

Instead he heard his bedroom door creak open. He lifted his head up but then automatically dropped it back down to the pillow as it had begun spinning uncontrollably. He was obviously still intoxicated.

“Cook?” he heard David’s breathy voice ask timidly.

“Mmm?” was all he could manage to reply.

Suddenly a bang of thunder shook the room and Cook saw David’s dark shape jump. “Uhm, could I please… sleep in here?”

“Are you afraid?” Cook asked

“Yes.”

Cook was afraid too, for different reasons, and if he hadn’t been so drunk he would have declined, but he was not thinking straight and so he mumbled for David to come in.

David hurried over to the bed. Instead of going around to the other side he crawled over Cook’s feet and then scurried up the bed and under the blankets. The movements he made to the mattress felt like an earthquake to Cook.

When he was settled in, they both lay perfectly still or a moment, but then Cook could feel David tentatively move around behind him. David pressed his clothed chest to Cook’s bare back. The fabric felt soft against his skin and the warmth of David’s body permeated the cloth to Cook’s own skin. Cook sighed at the comforting feeling of it.

David’s body was rigid with anxiety but Cook felt him gradually relax as the moments passed and the rain died down to a lazy pitter-patter. Cook heard David sigh contentedly and whisper, “Thank you.”

Then David moved away a little and Cook felt a warm hand on his back, fingers trailing down his spine. He shivered at the touch. David ran his hand up and down, massaging Cook’s back. The older man groaned in pleasure but it suddenly turned into silent sobs. Especially with the amount of alcohol in his system, he just could not control his feelings.

“Shhhh,” he heard David say, the hand on his back never ceasing the comforting caresses. It calmed him and through his drunkenness Cook still wondered how David could cause such juxtaposing emotions within him.

He allowed the sounds of the rain and the warmth of David’s touch lead him through the fog, and he couldn’t be sure, but he thought he might have felt delicate kisses on the back of his neck before he once again fell asleep.

 

~*~

 

When Cook woke in the late morning, David was gone. But when he poured the water from the jug into the basin, it was warm. He had a pounding headache but he was acutely aware of how badly he had let his guard down the night before.

He was just so _tired_. Pushing David away took up so much of his energy; fighting against his feelings took so much effort. He couldn’t help that he was vulnerable while drunk and sleepy. He hadn’t meant to let David in, in either the literal or emotional sense of the word.

He had come too far now, though, to ruin everything he had worked so hard to prevent from happening. He was angry at himself for slipping up. And angry that it had felt _so good_ to be held and touched by David in that way. A teasing taste of what he did not deserve to have.

Cook did not go down for breakfast. He could not face David, and he was feeling too ill to eat anyway. Instead, he placed some money in an envelope, as he always did every Monday morning, crossed the hall and slipped it under David’s door.

 

~*~

 

Later, as he lay shivering under his blankets, not really from the cold, but a combination of sickness from the alcohol, and self-loathing. David knocked on his door. He knew the knock was David’s and he contemplated telling the boy to go away, but although he could effectively ignore David himself, he found it extremely difficult to actually refuse the boy company when he came looking for Cook.

“Come in,” he said.

David walked in and closed the door. He was holding the envelope of money. There was something about his expression that was unnerving. “Why was there another two pounds in the money this week?”

With the effort he could muster, Cook pushed himself up to face the boy. He honestly couldn’t answer the question. He wasn’t sure why he had done it. Perhaps, it was his guilt. He wanted to make up for it and it was the only way he could think of. He had always dealt with his problems by using money.

“I don’t want you to give me money anymore,” David said.

“But – ” Cook desperately searched for something to say. He thought maybe David was saying he didn’t want Cook’s money anymore because he was going to leave him, and Cook couldn’t stand that.

“I only take it because I _need_ it for my family.”

“But, what, so – how are you going to send them money _now_? Your parents. You’re not… you’re not thinking about going back out on the streets are you? You can’t!”

“No. But maybe I could get a job doing something else? Maybe… maybe you could help me?”

Cook was momentarily speechless. “Err, I suppose I could… try.” Cook was quite surprised at David’s turnaround. Cook had never made David feel like he should be ashamed of his occupation, well, he hoped he hadn’t. Cook was more concerned that other men used him without caring about what a sweet, innocent and amazing person he was. Cook had never wanted to know too many details about it, for obvious reasons. And although he wanted David to see he was better than it, he hadn’t tried to convince the boy he had any other options than to live with Cook.

He should’ve been happy that David was thinking about something else. But he wasn’t. He thought that maybe he finally had pushed the boy away, and that David wanted to find something else to do so that he could use that to get away from Cook.

“I don’t want to do those things for money again. Ever,” David said.

But if Cook had succeeded in pushing David away, why was the boy so adamant about not going back to working the streets? “Why?” he asked, although he knew it was an unsatisfactory question.

“I want the person I do those things with to mean something to me. I never realised that could happen.”

Cook froze. Then turned away, his voice hardened. “What makes you think it can now?”

David was quiet and Cook was glad he had turned around because he wouldn’t have been able to bear the hurt look he knew he must have put on the boy’s face. Finally David sighed. “I just don’t like the idea of you paying me for my company, anymore.”

Cook turned back. “Are you leaving me?”

“No! Not unless you want me to. I want to stay with you. But I don’t want you to pay me for it. I don’t want you to pay me to be your friend, I _am_ your friend.”

“I don’t deserve your friendship,” Cook said.

“Cook, that’s not true! If anything, I don’t deserve you!”

“Stop!”

David looked shocked. He closed his mouth and stared at Cook expectantly.

“Just… please, I’m so tired. Just let me sleep. I can’t…”

David frowned, his defeated expression matching how Cook felt. “I’ll bring some dinner for you later.”

Cook lay back down and pulled the covers over his head childishly. Trying to push David from the safety of the little world of white he created beneath the sheets. Yet, he listened intently as David left the room and his uncharacteristically heavy feet padded down the stairs.

Later, when David brought his food, he ignored the knock and waited until he heard those retreating footsteps again before opening the door.

 

~*~

 

Cook did not see David the next day. He got up especially early, forgoing breakfast, but instead of going to his club he sat in the park, watching the people of various walks of life pass though.

At times he found himself studying them intently as they walked on, oblivious and totally concerned with their own lives. And at other times he could only think about David, replaying the boy’s words over and over again.

 _I want the person I do those things with to mean something to me._

He ate some bread and cheese in a public house sometime in the mid afternoon. He had really lost a lot of weight over the last few months, his anxiety often preventing him from being able to eat. Afterwards, he walked around the streets of London aimlessly.

Cook was surprised at how he had never really noticed that there were many miserable faces around him, staring to the ground. It was a melancholy realisation, that so many people were unhappy. And it was all his own doing that he was one of them.

It was dark by the time he arrived back home. David wasn’t waiting for him as he usually was. He took off his coat, and was thankful David’s coat was still hanging on its hook beside Cook’s.

He went in search of the boy, first going up the stairs. He paused outside of David’s room; he placed his hand on the door ready to enter when he suddenly heard something that made his heart stop. A soft, beautiful voice was singing… something all too familiar… Cook froze. It couldn’t be.

He fumbled with the handle and barged into the room to find David sitting on the floor, papers sprawled around him and Cook’s box of music open. David looked up, obvious guilt radiating through his expression.

Cook just stared at him, shocked. Finally he spoke, stuttered, “What… what are you doing?”

David was suddenly released from his frozen state and he frantically moved about, crawling around the floor to gather up the papers. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating.

Cook went hot and it suddenly felt like sweat was fighting to get out of every pore in his body. His breathing quickened familiarly. He shook his head vaguely. He just did not want to believe that this had happened.

He turned and practically ran from his house. His body was moving of its own accord as he walked and walked, his legs seemed to know where he was going. He hadn’t even taken his coat but he didn’t seem to feel like cold.

When he finally stopped walking it was dark and he had no idea how long it had been. He looked about and suddenly realised where he was. He stared at the doorway where he had first seen David, a fragile boy. A sweet, pure boy under attack in an ugly world.

It wasn’t David’s fault that he had been curious about the box. It was probably Cook’s fault. David was probably bored. What scared him was now David knew the things about Cook that he had been hiding. Hiding from everyone, his entire life. David had read his soul.

Just then, a boy who seemed quite familiar sidled up to him, “Hey honey,” the boy said, fingering Cook’s collar. Instinctively he leaned into the touch, although he knew it wasn’t real comfort. But then David’s face flashed before his eyes and he roughly pushed the boy away. “Get away from me!” he screamed, quite unhinged, and ran in the direction he had come.


	7. Part Six

**six: simple and true**

Cook was making his way to his room when he heard a small and unmistakable voice say his name. He turned to see David standing in the doorway of his own room, framed by glowing candlelight.

“I packed my bags. I’ll leave in the morning… or I could leave right now if you want. I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” the boy said.

Cook took a deep breath and a step toward him. “You don’t have to go anywhere, David.”

“But…”

“I like having you here. A lot. I… You know that.” David looked confused, as he had a right to, considering the way Cook had been behaving. It made Cook feel awful.

“I… I’m sorry about…” David stuttered.

Cook shook his head dismissively, almost desperately. He was still upset, but it was nothing compared to how upset he would be if David left. “I would have been curious too. I’m sorry I ran away like that. I was just in shock. No-one else has ever seen those before.”

“Really? But why? They’re amazing.”

He shook his head again. “It’s not why I wrote them.”

David paused. “I think I understand.”

Cook was now standing right in front of David. He could practically feel the warmth from his body, and he wanted nothing more than to be enveloped by it. He was sick of forcing himself to live in the cold. Maybe, he _could_ have some warmth. Maybe he did deserve a little bit.

He lifted his hand up to touch the boy’s cheek and David instantly leaned into the touch. “I don’t ever want you to go away, David. Please, don’t leave me,” his voice wavered, rising sobs caught in his throat.

David stared up at him with fiery hazel eyes, “I won’t” he whispered.

Cook closed his eyes, he felt faint. He gripped David’s shoulder for support. He felt David place a hand on his hip. He leaned forward, his eyes still closed, and rested his forehead to David’s. “I love you,” he finally confessed.

David breathed in and out heavily. “I love you, too.”

Cook couldn’t help but let out one of the threatening sobs. “I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t want you to have to end up like me. Sad and lonely and having to pay for pleasure...”

“But, why would I be like that, if I had you?” David asked.

“You’ll get sick of me, and by then it’ll be too late. You’ll realise you’re too good for me.”

“No! You can’t think that,” David said ardently. He pulled Cook into a strong embrace.

Cook didn’t fight it. His body, his heart, couldn’t reject that warmth any longer. But, his mind was still filled with his insecurities. “You’re so young, David…” he said weakly, into David’s hair.

“I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. I have been for a long time.” Then he pulled away, but instantly took Cook’s hand in his, and squeezed it reassuringly. He pulled Cook into his bedroom and closed the door. Cook dazedly allowed himself to be led over to the bed. He sat down when David nudged him to do so. And, like a rag doll, mutely watched as David removed his shoes for him.

David pushed his shoulders back and Cook lay onto the bed, finally finding some of his own movement, and twisting so that he was resting his head on David’s pillows. Their scent was intoxicating.

He watched, fascinated, as David started to undress him. It wasn’t desperate, and it was strangely… not sexual. It was just David taking care of him, showing Cook he loved him through such simple gestures. Small gestures that meant so much more than one could ever tell just by describing them.

When David kissed his stomach, and down his thighs, and up to his chest again, Cook knew it was about so much more than just physical attraction. It was about love. He could feel it in every tiny little nudge of pressure from David’s lips. And Cook had never experienced that before.

His eyes were wide, when David leaned back and began to undress himself. Cook was frozen. So many emotions were running through him, that he had no energy to control his body in any way.

David was beautiful, like a Michelangelo statue. He seemed too perfect, too rare and precious to touch. Cook felt he didn’t even deserve to be looking at him. He wanted to say something, to tell David how truly gorgeous he was, and that Cook didn’t deserve him. He choked on his words, but David read his eyes anyway, and gave him a look that said _you are_.

He gasped when David leaned over him, and lowered his warm body over Cook’s cold one. He was lying in between Cook’s legs, their naked bodies pressed together so tightly, so perfectly. Nothing else could feel so comforting. David lay still, with his head buried in Cook’s neck, holding him.

David carefully started to place delicate kisses over Cook’s shoulders and chest. He kissed Cook’s heart. He was treating Cook like he was so fragile, and Cook realised he needed that.

Slowly, Cook lifted his arms, which had been lying limply at his sides, until they were wrapped around David’s back. David lifted his head up to look into Cook’s eyes, and Cook hoped he could see the gratitude there.

Of course, there was a sexual element underlying what was happening between them, but the lust was overpowered, by something so pure. Just holding David was all Cook needed. Only when David shifted a little, and their groins grazed against each other, did Cook feel a real jolt of arousal.

David kissed him. Cook wasn’t familiar with kissing. He had done it before, but very rarely. He had honestly never liked it. Not when it was just pretend, a show. Something he only got because he paid for it.

It was so different with David. He was enjoying the kissing more than he ever thought was possible. David’s mouth tasted so sweet. And so unique, he didn’t think any other mouth could ever be as delicious.

David’s hands massaged over his chest, and again Cook felt a shock of excitement, when David squeezed his nipples. He gasped and David looked at him, shy but determined.

“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” he whispered. Cook tried to speak but David put his fingers to his lips, stopping him. “I want to be so close to you. I want to show you how I feel. I… I want you inside of me.”

Cook trembled. “You… do?”

“Yes,” David said. “Because, I’ve never done that with anyone. Never given that to anyone, and I want to give it to you.”

“But…” Cook started to protest.

“You told me, with you I never had to do anything I didn’t want to. I want to do this.” David said. He moved back off of Cook, and off the bed. He walked over to his washstand and picked up a bottle of lotion Cook had given him as a gift.

He climbed back onto the bed, beside Cook, pressed up to his body, and he handed Cook the lotion. With effort, Cook leaned onto his elbow and looked down at David, who was staring up at him so earnestly. “David. We don’t have to.”

“Oh no, I want to,” David said firmly. “Cook… I love you.” He took Cook’s free hand, and guided it between his legs. “Please.”

Cook hovered over David anxiously. He was scared, and it must have shown on his face, because David tenderly ran his fingers down the older man’s cheek. “It’s alright,” he whispered.

Cook closed his eyes, afraid his tears might suddenly spill from them. “I love you so much, David.”

“I know.”

It took a long time to prepare David. Cook was extremely slow and careful, as much for his sake as for David’s. When he finally entered him, David was holding both his hands over his face, pressing his fingertips hard into his eye sockets, gasping.

“I’m sorry,” Cook said in a strangled voice, trying to keep himself still, and to keep himself from coming.

David pulled his hands away, and urgently placed them on either side of Cook’s face. “Don’t be sorry, Cook. It feels… so good.”

Cook _had_ to see David. They _had_ to be facing each other. He had never done it that way before, and he knew why. Because he hadn’t loved any of the others. They weren’t David. And with David, it wasn’t _fucking_. It was a whole other realm of pleasure.

And then it was over. It all happened so fast, Cook couldn’t stop himself from exploding, and then David was too. And it was very messy. But there was nothing awkward, or anti-climatic about it. It was perfect. It was the most romantic night of Cook’s life.

They slept together, afterwards, completely entangled, a deep, deep sleep.


	8. Epilogue

**epilogue: turned into something beautiful**

The drawing room was open and a soft piano melody drifted through the door. David Archuleta walked into the room, following the sound. He wrapped his arms around the man who was sitting at the piano, he clasped his hands over the man’s heart, feeling it suddenly speed up and vibrating against his palms. “That sounded beautiful,” he whispered.

David Cook turned to look into his lover’s eyes. “Really?” he asked, joy in his voice. David nodded. “I’m glad you like it. I, uh… wrote it for you. I want you to sing it. You can sing it to your parents… when we go to visit them.”

“When we what?” David asked, completely taken by surprise.

Cook turned around on the piano bench, and dragged David down to sit beside him. “I want to meet them.”

“You know we can’t… can’t tell them about us,” David said.

“I know. But they’re important to you. And that makes them important to me.”

David grinned. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” They could never say it enough.

David turned in his seat to face the piano. He tentatively tapped on one of the keys. “Teach me the song?”

Cook smiled. He turned around also. “It goes like this…”

They sang of hearts, and hyperventilation. They sang their story, and it had a happy ending.

**The End**


End file.
